Mondays are just young Fridays

A handful of days and
the highest intentions,
yet life never receives
our fullest attention.
Always bills to be paid
for debts that we owe,
or time is consumed
by people we know.
Distracted by night,
or word on the street,
work is fulfilling,
but never complete.
Weekends arrive, and
never too soon,
month over month: April,
May, then soon again June.
Try as we might
to move day at a time,
we stumble, we forget
without reason or rhyme.
Attempts to remember
forever test our retention,
always so much to do.
and too much to mention.
04/3/17                                         j.g.l.

April is Poetry Month
something new every day

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